Cry of Ishmael
by MarieEri
Summary: An ancient threat haunts Midgard once more. Seemingly abandoned by her god of thunder, Jane Foster strives to bury the past and begin anew. Worlds away, forsaken and condemned to a dungeon for his crimes, the dark prince of Asgard is called upon on when deadly turmoil threatens the Realms.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **I can't be alone when I say that the movie Thor, (and to some degree, The Avengers), was interesting to me for the sheer fact of Loki's tragic story and Tom Hiddleston's wonderful portrayal of it. With my admitted penchant for dark, wounded villains, I can't get Loki out of my head. Ever the god of mischief, every time I try to get back to my own novel, he's there, goading me. Two can play at this, Reindeer Games.

I should note I had the initial structure and some scenes begun on this before seeing the Dark World, but I'm pleased there were enough canon hints in the movie to give credence what I already had in mind. However, this post-Avengers story takes an alternate path to the Dark World events, and leans decidedly Lokane.

I own nothing. I just enjoy playing in the Marvel sandbox.

Please enjoy!

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**Tromso, Norway  
**

Jane Foster sits in the furthest corner from the door of the small café, where she has a clear view of patrons as they come in and out. She looks non-descript and plain—intentionally for the most part. Blending into the café's gray, minimalistic décor, no one pays the young physicist any mind as she sips her third cup of coffee. A ragged black notebook lies open on the small round table before her, and between sips, she taps the end of her pen on its dog-eared pages in a rhythmic, nervous beat.

The Norwegian newscaster drones on about the New York attack on the mounted flatscreen TV to her left, but she can't understand more than a few words—names really. She's almost thankful for it. They bring about a surge of feelings in the pit of her stomach that she'd rather keep suppressed. Iron Man. Captain America. Green Rage Monster (she smirks at that one). Thor. _Thor_…

Unbidden, she glances up when she hears that name again, and observes the shaky cell phone video on TV of the red cloaked demigod, (_alien,_ Jane quickly corrects herself), thrashing one of the hideous invading creatures with his hammer. It's little more than a blur, he moves so quickly. A few other videos of equally poor quality are interspersed before looping. Nothing of note, just depictions of the Avenger's victory. What did she expect? That Thor would face the camera and blow her a kiss?

_No. Yes. Think about something else,_ she orders herself. Jane looks back at her notebook. On the page open before her are Thor's patient, if simplistic explanations of the connections between worlds, drawn during a night spent in the New Mexican desert when her life seemed so much simpler. She flips the page angrily, relieved to see her own barely legible scrawl again.

Jane pulls her long, brunette hair back into a messy pony tail and sits back. What's the point? She can't think straight anyway. It's times like this where she wishes her good friend and mentor Erik Selvig was here. Any good scientist respects the necessity for a fresh pair of eyes, and she desperately wants Erik's guiding hand. And even more than that, a friend. Someone to talk to—in English, preferably. Her hasty abduction by SHIELD, despite their absolute incidence on it 'being for her own safety', was yet another bizarre infringement on her once uncomplicated life. When she inquired, SHIELD insisted Erik was safe too, and helping them with several projects (of which they refused to elaborate further). Jane did not need to possess an advanced degree to know that her and Erik's "borrowed" research of theoretical Einstein–Rosen bridge, SHIELD's heavy-handed interference with her well-being, and the sudden invasion of aliens on Earth, were all closely connected.

It makes the sting all the more tangible to know she is being excluded from it all. So here she sits, away from her stifling SHIELD-approved quarters and yet just as useless and unseen as she had ever been.

Jane recognizes a familiar voice on the TV, and looks up again. Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, (his words, not hers), stands behind a podium for a press conference a world away. He tosses the suit jacket over the back of a chair and smirks at his audience. Stark's cocky swagger is in full force as he chews through the blitz of reporter questions, and Jane starts to lose interest.

And then—

"Mr. Stark, can you give us any update on the war criminal known as Loki?"

Tony leans back and folds his arms. "Yep. Antlers has been captured and sent back to his world to face justice."

He receives the expected chorus of snickers and cocks his head, awaiting the next question, which Jane can't hear. Tony shrugs.

" Aside from an appalling sense of fashion and questionable choice of company," he replies, "I know nothing about Loki. Let's just focus on the rebuild, people. I can talk about that. Yes?—"

Jane's had enough. She pushes out her chair and picks up her notebook, but not before catching a glance at the photo displayed on the TV of the very being Tony Stark dismissed so readily. Like the video aired previously, the photo quality is grainy, but the intensity of Loki's wild, dark gaze still radiates from it. She doesn't like to admit that in a perverse way, she finds him to be both fascinating and repulsive, in the same way that gapers observe car accidents or serial killers gain notoriety. It is difficult to fathom that this alien, related to Thor but so completely different, is now responsible for a failed intergalactic invasion and all the ramifications that go with it.

Shrugging on a black peacoat over her worn Yale hoodie, Jane pulls her notebook against her chest and exits the café. A light rain hits her face, and she pulls up her hood and bows her head. As she makes her way back to her tiny SHIELD apartment, Jane takes a fleeting look at the skies. Some part of her wishes for the tell-tale swirling clouds, indicative of the anomaly that once brought the god of thunder to her. But there's nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

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**Nome, Alaska**

**11 months later**

Jane juggles her thermos with one hand and her notebook and pen in the other and she leans over and looks into the eyepiece of the telescope again. The star, (a rather mundane G-type main-sequence example designated Ceti Alpha 7654.4 in the Carina Nebula), has been the object of her research for the last month or so, if only for the reason that it kept her attention focused squarely away from the wormhole anomalies that plagued her research before…_him_. As there is nothing otherworldly, controversial or spectacular about this star, (nothing as riveting as a falling god from the sky, say), Jane doesn't have to be burdened with the intense number crunching and observations necessary for her previous research in New Mexico. Not that she doesn't miss Darcy's company on some nights, but it is just easier this way.

The physicist is good at being alone. She always has been. Her chosen field further cements her isolation, as no one wants to talk string theory at a dinner party, and she isn't really adept at speaking at length about much else besides her passions.

"Where are you?" she says out loud, looking into the telescope again. She checks the settings, the lens and looks again.

"Odd," she mumbles. Jane rocks back in her chair and looks up, taking the opportunity to gulp down some coffee. The hot liquid burns pleasantly down her throat, warming her instantly—not that she isn't dressed for Nome's rotten weather. Several layers of shirts, fleeces and long underwear with a heavy parka on top make her thin physique look amusingly bulky. A small price to pay for comfort and freedom.

She complained enough to SHIELD that Jane's certain they all but kicked her out of Norway. With her mentor missing and a stern warning to pursue 'alternative subjects' over that of her chosen research, Jane opted to abandon her memory laden New Mexico workstation and begin anew—somewhere where even SHIELD would be loath to follow. Hence her small cottage in Nome, equipped to the bare minimum but completely hers.

The clouds pass over the sky again. Jane sighs. She'd been having a rotten time tracking Ceti Alpha 7654.4 for the last few hours, and decides to call it a night. She begins to dismantle the telescope when she stops and gazes out at the northern lights in the distance. The swirling patterns of green and pink possess an unearthly, haunting beauty, though they remind her of the prelude to the phenomena she used to track…and doesn't wish to recall at the moment.

The telescope case is quite heavy and cumbersome, and she barely manages to drag it behind her along with the lawn chair and thermos pressed under her arm. Kicking the cottage door open, she steps into her small living area. A burst of cold air follows her in. Swallowing a curse, she goes to shut the door, but in her periphery, sees a flash of red and gold. Jane looks up and drops everything onto the floor with a loud thump.

"Oh my God," she gasps, staring at the figure in front of her.

Thor smiles at her. "Hello, Jane."

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"How…but…"

Jane stumbles over her words, breathless, as she confronts the Asgard native with a mixture of surprise and horror.

"You were carrying quite a lot of things," he says, nodding to the pile on the doorstep around her feet. His eyes sparkle with boyish amusement. It snaps Jane's attention back to the present. Quickly, she picks up the telescope case and sets it on futon next to her. She closes the door with more force than she intends, and the walls shake, bringing down the only adornment she hung up—an old framed photo of her, Erik and Darcy. She winces with embarrassment at the final clatter as it comes to rest on the floor.

_He's come back. He's standing in my living room, looking at me like I'm a crazy person._ Jane has dreamed of this moment how many times, only to look like the Pillsbury dough boy, live in sheet metal covered hovel, and appear utterly out of her mind.

"My research materials...sorry," she says, picking up the rest of the heap and placing it beside the telescope. "I don't have the van now."

"I didn't see it," he confirms, his grin ever present. His gaze never leaves her.

Jane swallows. "So…it's been a while."

Thor nods, and briefly glances around the confined room. "Looks cozy."

She offers a weak smile in response. Cozy, barren, ramshackle—depending on her mood, any of those adjectives sufficed. The reality is, she never expected to entertain guests. Especially Asgardian princes.

Thor spots her neglected thermos. "Perhaps you would like more coffee?" Her heart flip-flops. _He remembers._

"Yeah," she finds herself nodding, "coffee would be nice." She prays she isn't blushing.

Like a zombie, she shuffles behind the signature red cape as Thor makes his way into the kitchen.

"You know, it's just me here," she says, making excuses as she eyes the dirty dishes and mugs piled in the sink. "I don't get many visitors." _Precisely none, actually._ Which makes this eleven month stretch of isolation something of a record, even for her.

Thor looks down at Jane and offers another warm smile. "Then I am honored."

Jane strips off her thick gloves and rubs her eyes with her palms.

"I just can't believe, after all this time…" she collapses down on a chair, "that it's really you. I mean, I saw you on TV all those months back, but you never…came."

"I'm sorry, Jane," he says, "truly."

She shakes her head, and then finally eases out of her parka and several layers. There, now she can breathe again.

"Coffee?" he reminds her. Jane springs up. "Oh yeah, of course."

Thor stands back as she preps a new batch. She fumbles for a new mug, (praying that it's clean), and without looking, hands it to him.

Seconds later, she hears a crash on the ground. She spins, and sees Thor standing back, the shattered mug at his feet.

"Wanted another, huh?" she asks. He looks confused for a moment, though he quickly apologizes.

Jane's brow lifts, but she shrugs. "There's a broom over there. Just be careful of the glass." _Like he needs to reminder_, she winces. It's easy to forget who she's dealing with.

She pours herself a cup and turns, only to see the shattered glass still on the middle of her floor.

"_Ok_, I'll clean it up," she mutters to herself.

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Jane finds Thor in the living room, gazing at the fallen picture of her old companions.

"Do you miss them?" he asks. Jane bends and picks up the picture. "Yes, of course I do. Every day. Darcy calls every few weeks, and Erik—he's doing research, I suppose."

"I know what it is like to be separated from those you care for," Thor says, looking at her so intently her pulse flutters. He straightens and moves closer. "The time seems interminable, even to one—"

"Not mortal?" she interjects. Thor nods, and takes another step. With her petite size, Jane has to arch her neck to meet his gaze.

A flash of sorrow crosses her face. Thor waits for her to speak.

"I waited for you," Jane says quietly. "I searched…so many nights." She doesn't want to appear needy or bitter, but she fears she sounds like both. Thor's expression changes. Hardens.

"_I answer to the King of Asgard, Jane_." _Not to you_, he could have added just as easily.

It puts her small grievances in perspective-somewhat. "I'm… glad you're ok," she says, forcing a smile. She means it. She has missed Thor, terribly, but he kept his word, albeit years late.

Dreaming of this moment, she stands on her tip toes, and moves forward to kiss him, but she hits only air. Baffled, Jane opens her eyes. She's alone in an empty living room.

Thor is gone.

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**Asgard**

**12 months ago**

His boots have no sooner touched the glimmering floors within Asgard's citadel before Loki is stuck so hard he falls to his knees. Gagged and shackled as he is, he flashes Thor a warning look as he straightens. Blood runs down from the fresh gash above his eyebrow, a bright crimson line against Loki's sallow colored skin.

His elder brother stands over him, clenching Mjölnir with white knuckled fist. He's breathing hard, his blue eyes pure ice. Loki glances at the glowing tesseract in Thor's other hand, the very object that has allowed their travel from Midgard to Asgard despite the shattered bridge.

His brother doesn't miss the glance, and if possible, his rage amplifies. His bulk looms over Loki's kneeling form, golden and deadly.

"You unleashed hell on an innocent race. If it is commanded, I will kill you myself," Thor threatens.

If he lacked the gag, the forsaken prince would have smiled, though he does not doubt his brother's sincerity. Loki's eyes smirk for him, utterly contemptuous. His brow arches as Thor bears his teeth and raises his hammer again, poised to strike.

"Thor!"

The thunder god lowers Mjölnir a fraction and backs away, but his fierce gaze never leaves his brother. Their father, King Odin of Asgard, approaches with a group of guards, looking ever more like the aging old ruler that he is. He moves slowly, his robes trailing behind him. A pace away from Thor, he stops, letting his scepter hit the ground. The sound echoes throughout the chamber. He sees his eldest son's tense, menacing posture, and raises a weathered hand.

"Enough," he orders, his voice deep and tired. His gaze moves past Thor to his adopted son.

The king frowns. "You have returned to us disgraced, Loki."

Loki stares up at the king with unbridled loathing as he rises, somewhat awkwardly, to his feet. Even subjected to a muzzle and manacles, he stands up tall, his chin raised, ever a prince.

The king's voice quiets. "Your mother and I mourned. Our pain was…almost unbearable."

Something washes over Loki's face, and his eyes soften for just a moment. Odin steps forward, his long white hair brushing his shoulders. He stares at the metallic shackles over Loki's pale wrists, and he breathes the tired sigh of one who has ruled too long and seen too much.

"Loki, you have turned our grief into sorrow and shame. I did not raise you to be a war monger or a fool, and yet you are both." For a moment, Odin looks genuinely distressed before his impassive kingly guise replaces that of a wounded father. He backs away and waves his hand. Guards surround Loki.

"Son of Asgard," Odin commands, his voice resolute and detached, "you are condemned to the dungeons indefinitely for your crimes against this world and others."

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Loki walks with an even stride, his eyes trained forward. He is surrounded by a whole troop of armored guards. Their heavy footfalls reverberate down the massive, torch lit hall leading to the dungeon.

Despite the abnormally large escort, the guards exchange fleeting glances amongst each other. Sweaty palms grasp spears. Loki half smirks, free of his gag. _And_ _so they should fear him_. He was their king, lost to oblivion and now returned. He is not meant for a dungeon, though Asgard's depths are considerably less bleak than other places in his long memory.

His amusement dissipates as he feels the curiosity, even rage of the imprisoned Aesir and creatures of the nine Realms in their cells as they watch the condemned prince walk by. Oh, to be among friends, he thinks bitterly, stopping with the troops before his own cell. The captain of the guards makes a sweep of his hand, and the shimmering clear barrier drops so Loki can walk in. He turns and presents his shackled wrists to them. A young helmeted guard, just barely into manhood, is commanded forward for the honor. Loki keeps still as the guard looks up at him. A chill runs down Loki's spine. Something is terribly wrong. The boy's eyes are wall of black, void of soul or life. A malevolent smile stretches over his young features, and Loki knows it is the grin of someone else entirely.

The guard's hands touch his shackled wrist.

Instantly, Loki's conscious is snapped into another reality. It is the place of his nightmares, impossibly cold and dark, where the rocks that rise from the barren dark landscape are misshapen and warped and glow rivulets of green from their master's awesome power. Dread fills him.

"_Did you think I could not find you, Asgard prince?_" comes the powerful voice, rasping and ancient.

Loki frowns. "Then you know I'm a bit indisposed." He nearly buckles over as pain radiates throughout his body.

"Kneel!"

Reluctantly, Loki does, though the torment continues, pulsating through him.

"_Where is it?_" the disembodied voice continues.

"I have not broken my word," Loki answers.

"I grow weary of your promises."

_As do I_, Loki thinks, but says nothing.

"_Bring it to me, or suffer the consequences of your treason_." If possible, the pain intensifies, and when he can bear it no more—

Loki is thrust back into the present, rocking slightly on his feet in the transition. He sees the confused gaze of the young guard before him, restored to normal. He holds the removed shackles in his hands.

The guard steps back, and the barrier hums to life, entrapping the prince. The guards leave together, but the young one hesitates, throwing the prince one last glance.

Loki knows that look. Pity.

_You have no idea_, he thinks.

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**A/N** Please review if you enjoyed this. I don't have a lot of time to dedicate to writing fanfiction, but I will surely continue provided the readers and love are there. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Asgard's Dungeons**

Frigga watches her son sleep. It is a rare thing, to be able to stand in the presence of Loki, shamed prince of Asgard, without him aware of it.

The Queen moves closer to the prison cell's translucent barrier that separates her from her beloved adopted son. The barrier gives off an almost imperceptible background hum, its vibrating energy laced with ancient, powerful runes which keep the prison cells of the whole dungeon, and Asgard, secure from malevolence. Seeing her son captive like beast in this cage stirs a place in her heart Frigga has guarded well for too long.

Loki's chest rises and falls softly, his eyes shut. She can see the purplish dark circles underneath, blemishing the otherwise handsome, serene profile. His black hair is swept beneath his head, and her sharp maternal gaze can tell it's longer than he normally keeps it—a result of his imprisonment, no doubt.

His statuesque body is stretched out on an elegant carved bed, unusually still. Even in rest, she thinks with frown, Loki's rigid control remains. It must be exhausting.

Frigga tears her gaze away from her son's sleeping form, her eyes closed. How much can a mother bear? Her soul is weighed down by a hurt she cannot hope to conquer. The strife within her family has claimed the lives of so many. Her sons—her beautiful, strong sons—are so lost in their endless quarrel. Frigga looks up. In the silence of this wretched place, removed from the sage gaze of her husband, she can acknowledge that while she loves both her sons, she only cherishes the one.

Beside her, a projection shimmers into life, revealing the images so vividly circulating in her memory. It's a bittersweet torture, this gift of illusion, and yet, with wet eyes, the queen watches the moments of her life replay with solemn acceptance. Unbearably lifelike, the image materializes of the child Loki huddling in her arms after one of his many nightmares. He doesn't cry. He never cried, even as she sensed he was tormented by things she could never soothe.

Frigga holds her breath.

The image flickers and transforms into one from later years, where she gently encourages Loki to reveal his newest mastery of the magical realm to Odin. The projection shifts to the moment where she watches, horrified, as the King smiles not for Loki, but for young Thor as he drags a prize Bilgesnipe carcass into the throne room with a triumphant arm raised. Loki backs away into the shadows, casting a pained look at his beloved brother. Frigga cried for Loki that day.

The projection alters further into the future. Frigga stands before her son, dressed in his resplendent silver armor, his horned helmet held under one arm. They both await the coronation of Thor in the silence, interrupted only by the crackle of flames from the ceremonial pyre behind them. For once, Frigga can't read her son's face, his expression a model of practiced tranquility, though the queen knows better. She reaches up to touch his cheek, expressing the sentiment neither of them has the will to put into words. With a bowed head, Loki smiles for her and her alone. He stoops and kisses his adoptive mother on the forehead.

_"How_ _touching_."

Higga stiffens, and the projections vanish. Loki hasn't moved, but his eyes are open, staring at the white ceiling above.

"I did not want to disturb you," Frigga laments, her voice quiet. She has to tilt her chin up to see him, as the level of his cell sits higher than the cold floor she stands on.

Loki releases a long breath and rises to his feet in a fluid motion. Even in captivity, his black, green, and silver trimmed clothing remain pristine, a reflection of the spotless interior of his cell filled with rich furniture and an impressive number of stacked books. Frigga's brow rises. While he was ever the talented protégé, she sees through Loki's sophisticated displays of indifference and normalcy, as though his imprisonment was just a leisurely sojourn.

"Your skills impress me, _mother_," Loki taunts as he looks down on her, his voice dripping with venom. His fists are clenched, and Frigga knows he recalls the displayed memories as well as she. He moves the center of the cell with cat-like grace, his gaze never leaving her.

Asgard's queen refuses to take the bait. Her voice is gentle when she speaks. "It is I, who is ever impressed, Loki." Frigga motions at his cell. She doesn't mean to flatter, and her son takes her meaning for what it is—a confirmation of her shrewdness. The corner of Loki's mouth quirks upwards. In an instant, the opulent furnishings vanish, replaced by the bleak, white nothingness seen throughout the rest of the dungeon cells. His immaculate uniform is gone, revealing the filthy vestiges of his once impressive princely attire, while his black hair, no longer neatly swept back, hangs in matted tangles around a gaunt face. Reality is bitter truth for them both.

His doesn't allow her to dwell long on his true condition before asking, with false civility, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He places his arms behind his back.

"Can't a mother miss her son?" Frigga moves a step closer to Loki. The energy barrier hums louder as she nears. She fights tears, seeing him like this.

Loki's eyes are cold, void of emotion. "I doubt anyone in the whole of Asgard mourns my departure."

She looks up at him plaintively. "Loki, that's not true. Your father—"

The renounced prince leans forward, his loathing radiating from every pore. "_My true father,_" he seethes, "abandoned me as a worthless sacrifice, allowed me to be stolen away by a sworn enemy, raised up and then cast aside. _That Jotun wretch_," he snarls, "is dead, as he deserves, and by my own hand."

Frigga absorbs Loki's words. They ring true enough. The actions of his Jotun family were shameful, and she did not mourn the passing of the slain Jotun king. But she knows the heart of Asgard's.

"Odin is misguided," the queen counters, "and his wrath for you runs deep. But there is still hope. You are better than this, Loki."

He stalks closer to the edge of the cell. "But not better than Thor, am I?"

She lowers her gaze._ It is pointless_. Odin insists the Loki cannot be reached, that the prince's resentment and fury has driven him into unshakable madness, and she hates to admit the legitimacy in Odin's words, now visible before her.

As if reading her mind, Loki's vehement stare gleams with rage. Frigga releases a long breath. She has only one card left to play, and it is weak, shameful one, at that. Even so, every instinct in her cries out to tell him the truth.

Suddenly, she appears in the cell beside him, a mere arm's length apart. Frigga regards the tall, lean form of her son. She's not sure if either of them breathe. She longs to reach for him, but she cannot hold him as she once did long ago.

"Loki," she says softly, looking into his impossibly green eyes, "_you _are my beloved son…despite everything."

Loki turns away from her. "Another illusion, mother?" He senses as the queen's projection wavers and then disappears, and once again, she's trapped outside the prison cell.

"And they call me the god of lies," he says, his voice bitter.

Frigga looks away. Her greatest and most shameful truth is exposed to her son's derision. She can't bring herself to be in his presence anymore.

"Farewell, Loki," she whispers, and turns to leave. She had not moved more than a few paces when—

"Wait!" he calls.

Against her better judgment, the queen stops and looks back at him. Her heart pounds in her chest. Loki's stance is somewhat diminished. Shoulders hunched forward, skin even more ashen and sickly than before, his wary gaze lacks the contempt she saw moments earlier. When she's standing before him again, he kneels so his eyes are level with hers, and places his left palm flat against the cell barrier. It shimmers and sparks at his touch, but he doesn't remove it. A muscle tightens in his jaw, the only indication of the intense shock that must be radiating throughout his body.

"Loki, stop this!" Frigga urges, and futilely moves to stop him, an instinctual response to remove her child from danger. Her elegant fingers stop just short of the rippling barrier and her son's extended palm. Just out of her reach, the finality of their separation hits her like a swing from Mjölnir.

Something in Loki's eyes change. In one horrifying moment, she watches as her son's hand pushes through the impregnable energy field. His fingers snap around her extended hand. The guards shout somewhere in the distance, and she can register their footfalls as they come running to her aid.

Frigga's eyes widen, as she tries to pull away. "Loki, no!" she cries.

His teeth grit as the pain intensifies. Loki's fingers press harder, desperately into his mother's flesh as the barrier arcs and spits around his breach. His skin burns, first shades of angry red, then black, then blue that spreads down his fingers and up his arm. He takes no notice. Frigga can see nothing but desolation in Loki's gaze, a horror that speaks of terrible things seen and unseen. It is this, not his grip, which makes her gasp in pain.

Just as the guards are upon them, he releases his hold and steps back, hands raised at his side in a defeated manner.

"My queen, are you well?" a guard questions, pulling her away from the prison cell. Frigga holds her hand into her chest, her breathing ragged. She allows herself be escorted away.

A remaining guard looks up at Loki. The prince's arms are still raised in mock innocence, and he has reverted back to his regal, dark appearance. A dangerous smile erupts on his face.

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**A/N** If you don't feel like complete sh#t after this chapter, then I didn't do my job. Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Nome, Alaska**

Jane smiles weakly at the motel manger as she receives another frosty glare. It's obvious that her fib of needing to contact her tour group is becoming less credible by the minute, and a stark reminder that she needs a working phone at the cottage.

"A little longer," she mouths, her head tilted to the side as she balances the phone between her ear and shoulder. She thumbs through a _Travel Alaska_ brochure, trying to look interested.

"Miss Foster?" the voice on the receiver says.

"Yes, that's me," Jane exclaims, the brochure forgotten. She earns another sharp look from the manager.

"Sorry about the wait," the woman on the other line continues, "but I've checked the records, and there is no sign of your request or the appropriate funding."

Jane's stomach tightens and she has to physically grip the counter in front of her for support. "That's impossible. I sent everything in months ago. All I need are a few weeks with the telescope…"

"I'm sorry, Miss Foster. But as you know, the Observatory is booked solid for the rest of the year, weather permitting. You can resubmit your paperwork, and provided the rental fees are paid, you might be able to land a spot sometime next summer."

Jane feels a like her legs might give out on her. "Please, just check your records again." Her voice drops, desperate. "I _need_ that telescope."

"There is nothing in our system. Please resubmit your request, and the university will get back to you."

Jane blinks rapidly to prevent tears. "Right," bitterness seeps into her tone, "I appreciate your time." She hangs up the phone a little too hard and hands it back to the manager behind the desk.

"Thanks for letting me use your phone," she says, her voice flat. She storms out of the questionable establishment before the motel manager can reply.

A sharp wind penetrates her jacket, and Jane draws it closer around herself.

_I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry_, she repeats in her mind. The reality is, however, there is only so much she can do with her small telescope. She desperately needs the resources—and magnification power—of University of Alaska's Nome Observatory, housing the 200-inch Ublureak telescope, one of the most powerful in the world. She is certain her paperwork got there. She is being brushed aside.

Perhaps if she didn't exist on the fringes of the scientific community, if she had made a better effort to publish regularly, attend conferences, stay in contact with her old professors…

The list of Jane's regrets is endless, it seems, and she feels so weighed down she can hardly find the strength to make the cold walk back to her jeep. Just then, her stomach rumbles, reminding her that she is human and can't survive on coffee alone.

The physicist frowns and takes a look around. Nearby her jeep is a gas station with a convenience store. Taking a deep breath, she makes her way there.

Ten minutes later, Jane Foster is stands in the middle of the grocery isle, her hand between two bags of chips. _This is going to be my great achievement of the day,_ she thinks wryly, _to make a decision about which processed foods will make up my breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next week._ Erik and Darcy had kindly taken charge of her abysmal food habits while in New Mexico, even as they indulged her ridiculous coffee consumption.

She pushes their painful memory out of her mind and ends up grabbing the chips to the left and throwing them into her basket. She meanders through the rest of the isle, staring at everything and nothing until food items transition into an assortment of personal care and hardware products. Her gaze comes to rest on a cheap tool set, complete with a hammer. It looks nothing like Mjölnir, and yet she can't help but stare at it.

The utter shock of Thor's unannounced appearance has dissipated somewhat over the last few weeks. In its place, the hope of his return has reemerged, aching and consuming. It makes Jane question her choice of living in such a desolate place. Well, not really living—_surviving_.

In fact, if it hadn't been for the remnants of the shattered ceramic bits still decorating her kitchen floor the morning after, (her sweeping job had been hasty at best), Jane would have considered the whole Thor interaction nothing more than the figment of a stressed and caffeine-addled mind.

But he was there, she was sure of it. And now, once again, he's not.

Jane's longing for the thunder god spits in the face of her carefully shielded independence, something she's painfully aware of. She recalls how in undergrad through her graduate seminars, she held her own in a ring with (male) intellectual heavyweights without batting an eyelash, the lone girl in a room of ego-centric bullies. She heard their mocking jeers, read the dismissal of her work on their faces, and yet she persevered. She was not out to get laid, to 'borrow' research or promote feminism. She loved what she did—but it was consuming, draining, and left her painfully alone.

Her time spent with Darcy in New Mexico—despite the intern's absurdity—had strangely become one of the most fulfilling relationships Jane never expected. Coupled with Erik's older guiding presence, an unruffled constant during their wine-infused brainstorming sessions, the loneliness was barely noticeable for a time.

"I'm ok. I'm doing what I love, and that's what matters," Jane says, trying to convince herself, especially given the raw emotion still churning from her failure with getting observatory time. Only when she receives a strange glance from nearby customer does she realize she spoke out loud. With a wince and apologetic grin, Jane heads up to the register.

"That all?" the cashier asks, eyeing her conglomeration of junk food and energy drinks. He's an older man of Inupiat Eskimo heritage, by Jane's reckoning. A lot of people from this area are, she recalls. Jane gives him a guilty smile and grabs a healthy trail mix bag from a nearby display to add to her pile.

"Yeah, it is."

He rings her items up slowly. Jane glances at her watch. The best viewing of Ceti Alpha 7654.4 is in half an hour, and the drive back from town is at least twenty minutes, provided the weather cooperates. She taps her credit card on the counter, waiting and looking out the window at the darkened sky. Like an ethereal snake, pale green northern lights twist up above.

"You have the look of _Tuurngaq_."

Jane's brows knit and she turns back to the cashier. "_Tuurngaq_?" she repeats, stumbling over the word.

The man frowns, the wrinkles creasing on his russet colored skin. He takes her credit card and swipes it.

"It means with another spirit." He hands her back her card. "Haunted."

"Oh," Jane pauses, unsure how to respond, "I don't think I am." She grabs the plastic bags and heads for the door.

"Be careful out there," the cashier calls after her. "They say a big cold front is coming." Jane thanks him and pushes out the door.

As she makes her way to her parked jeep, she's careful to keep her eyes down.

{}{}{}{}{}

The drive back is tedious and slow. Once past the lit roads of town, the clear winter skies turn gray and snowflakes begin to gather on her windshield. Reluctantly, Jane eases off the gas as the road becomes less visible. With the Bering Sea to one side of her, and a muddy ditch on the other, even she has to concede that she won't be stargazing tonight. She'll be lucky if she can find the cottage at all in this storm. She smacks the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

Within minutes, the snowfall is so dense that Jane stops, the jeep skidding to a halt. The two narrow beams of the headlights seem to hit nothing but a wall of swirling white. The snow almost seems alive, contorting and twisting in a hellish dance around her. Shapes appear in the darkness and then blow apart in a burst of arctic wind.

The wiper blades of the jeep seize up after being so caked with slush and ice. With a frown, Jane gets out of the warm interior of the vehicle. Leaning over the hood, she has to stand on her tiptoes to brush the ice off with her gloved hand. A few minutes later, she dives back into the jeep, thoroughly soaked. Her wet hair sticks to her cheeks and neck where not covered by her hat, and she feels miserable. Even worse, the snow appears even heavier than before. She can't see anything beyond the hood of the jeep.

Every survival manual Jane's ever perused says to stay put rather than chance walking. She glances at the gas gage. Less than a quarter tank. Not long enough if she wants to keep the jeep running with the heater on all night.

Real fear replaces her earlier disappointment, and once again, she hates that she's all alone in this place. What was she thinking? That she could simply escape? That the memories of New Mexico or of Norway wouldn't follow her?

Just as self-pity threatens to take hold, Jane spots something. She squints. _There._ A few meters ahead of her—a flash of red. She leans forward and wonders if it was just her imagination. Nothing.

Curious, she eases the jeep forward a few feet. Further up, she spots the red again, barely visible as it convulses in the wind. A cape, she realizes, her breath catching in her throat.

The game of cat and mouse continues, with Jane desperately stalking until—she blinks. _She's back._ The lights of the cottage are on, beckoning her.

_Except she didn't leave the lights on when she left._

Weary and suspicious, Jane leaves her purchases in the driver's side seat and makes her way inside. She hears water running in the kitchen.

"If it's you, you have some serious explaining to do," she warns, grabbing a heavy book just in case. Already she can conjure the mighty smack she'll give the blonde haired alien. Followed by the kiss she was denied.

Jane peaks her head around the corner, ready to strike.

"Darcy?" she gasps.

Her old intern pauses from her task of washing dishes, soap suds up to her elbows. "Yeah, dummy, who'd you think it was?" she says, looking over her shoulder. "You can't live without me, can you?"

Jane drops the book in her hands and comes running to her friend. Darcy holds her dripping soapy hands out as Jane squeezes her in a tight hug.

"Missed you, too," Darcy squeaks, shimmying out of the hug.

Jane almost has tears in her eyes. "I just can't believe you're here! What happened to the job with Governor what's his name—?"

"Eh, this sounded more fun—Nome, Alaska and everything. You know I'm a sucker for great weather." Darcy's tone drips with its typical sarcasm, but her eyes smile nonetheless. "Anyway," she continues, "I can't get enough of the upscale digs you choose to live in."

Jane laughs. "Yeah, well, I don't need much with just me here."

"Not anymore! I put my stuff in the rear bedroom."

The physicist's mouth drops open. "Really? Wow."

"Well, yeah. You sounded miserable in your emails. Anyway, I might not have all the initials after my name, but I can sure as hell type faster and keep you," she looks around, "alive."

She regards Jane closely. "You look like crap."

Jane laughs, the familiarity of her friend's blunt observations a welcome change. "Thanks. I haven't bothered with makeup in a while."

Darcy wipes her hands off on a dish rag and rests them on her hips. "No," her head cocks to the side, "there's something else."

Jane tenses, an action not lost on her friend. "Or should I say," Darcy continues, leaning forward, "_someone_ else? Perhaps a stunning Calvin Klein model wannabe running around with the hammer of doom?"

"It's Mjölnir," Jane corrects, and catches herself. "And no, nothing quite so interesting," she deflects. "I'm studying a star, like I told you about. In the Carina Nebula."

Darcy smirks. "Yeah, whatever. We'll see."

"Seriously!" Jane's blushing, and she turns away to hide it. She's not sure why, but she's not willing to share her recent experience with Thor just yet.

"So your fridge is kinda barren," Darcy calls out.

"I have some stuff in the jeep to eat," Jane calls back over her shoulder as she heads for the door. She cracks it open and looks outside. "Provided I can find the jeep out there..."

Darcy checks out the window and whistles. "Good luck with that. I can't see anything, and I'm starving. Sure you don't want a rope around your waist or something?"

Jane rolls her eyes and heads outside.

A few minutes later, the contents of Jane's shopping trip are spread out on the meager wobbly coffee table before them.

"You've actually given up, haven't you?"

Jane hits Darcy in the arm, grinning. "No. I just…have other priorities."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Like diabetes and a heart attack." With that said, Darcy picks up the nearest bag of chips and rips it open. She flips on the ancient TV and sits back on the futon with Jane.

"Right. So not only is it black and white, you don't have cable." Darcy checks her phone. "And no cell phone reception or internet. This place is a black hole."

Jane smirks and dives her hand into Darcy's bag, drawing out a few chips. "Not quite," she says, chomping down. "I mean, it is quiet. And I can get work done. It has a certain rugged charm."

Darcy gives her an 'oh please' look and eats another chip. Jane snuggles further into the cushions of the futon.

"So you have to tell me what happened at your old job," she says, grinning. "Sounds positively scandalous!"

Darcy laughs. "You have no idea. It all started after—"

Jane tries to follow Darcy's animated retelling, complete with voices. The physicist gets a little lost with the names and events, but she doesn't care. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and it's a wonderful feeling.

{}{}{}{}{}

The next night, Darcy peers into the eyepiece of the telescope. "I don't see it."

Her words are muffled through the ridiculous layers of ski masks she insists on wearing. Jane checks the finder again and adjusts the magnification. The two young women are standing just past the doorstep of the cottage—the only few square feet they were willing to shovel out. Jane's usual place to set up is buried in two feet of snow.

"Now try," the physicist suggests. "It will seem dim and blurry to us, but that can happen when you're 7,500 light years away." _And when I'm denied access to decent telescope that I have every right to use_, she thinks.

Darcy stamps her cold boots against the ground, trying to regain feeling in her toes. "How can you stand this?"

Jane shrugs. "I guess I have gotten used to it," she answers honestly. She hands her thermos to her intern. "Here."

Darcy unscrews the cap, pulls up the ski masks and takes a few greedy sips of hot coffee before handing it back to Jane.

"I just don't get it," the intern continues. "What we were doing in New Mexico was cutting edge fascinating oh-my-god-there's-aliens stuff. This is so lame in comparison."

The thought has crossed Jane's mind to many times, and yet she feels an obligation to defend her choices and come clean with her friend.

"Look," she begins, "you remember my trip to Europe around the time of the invasion?"

Darcy nods.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't my choice. I was taken and forced to live in a place I didn't want to be with no one who knew me or cared. My research was stolen, and when they said I could leave, they suggested that I pursue other avenues than worm holes and 'oh-my-god-there's-aliens stuff.'"

Darcy frowns. "And when you say 'suggested'—?"

"Threatened. And they have a lot of guns."

The intern looks genuinely troubled. "Who are they?"

Jane shakes her head and peers into the eyepiece again. "SHIELD. It's this pseudo military spy group that claims to protect earth from whatever's out there. Somehow Tony Stark, Thor and all them are connected…I really didn't get the details."

"Thor? _Your _Thor?"

"I don't want to go there, Darcy. He's not mine. I knew him for only a few days." _Three amazing days_, she mentally adds.

The intern is silent for a long moment, working out the new information.

"How could SHIELD understand your theories?" she asks at last. "I can barely read your scrawl, let alone interpret it."

Jane stands back, and adjusts her green plaid trapper hat. "I'm pretty sure Erik was helping them," she says, registering Darcy's open mouth. "I hadn't published anything yet, as you know. What SHIELD has, and what they used, had to be explained and manipulated by someone who knew what he or she was doing. That's me or Erik."

"Thanks."

Jane gives Darcy a good natured punch in the arm. "You know what I mean."

"Well," the intern concludes, "we've been out here an inhumanly long time, and I can't feel any of my appendages anymore."

They make short work of breaking down the equipment and bringing it back inside the cottage. Jane has to smirk at the pile of snow gear dripping on the rug by the door. Boots, coats, sweaters, hats, gloves, scarves—it looks like ten people just came out of the cold, and not two. Darcy admittedly likes to be toasty warm, so her sacrifice to be here, of all places, makes Jane all the more astonished and grateful.

The physicist takes a seat on the futon and drags out her beloved notebook. She hears the fridge open, followed by a snort from Darcy.

"I still can't believe the lack of food around here. Anything good in town?" She pokes her head around the corner.

Jane makes a noncommittal sound in her throat, only half paying attention as she moves her pen furiously to record the last of her observations from outside.

"What about take out? Delivery?" Darcy asks. "Sushi? Thai? Shawarma?"

Jane shakes her head at Darcy's rapid fire list. The intern collapses on the futon next to her and sighs dramatically. "So there's nothing remotely edible here not soaking in MSG and polyunsaturated fat?"

Jane puts down the pen for a moment. "There's a wine bottle in the cabinet above the fridge. For a special occasion."

"See, I knew you were holding out on me." Darcy grabs it and reads at the label. "Nice. Where's your corkscrew?" She doesn't wait for an answer before she starts rummaging through the kitchen drawers.

Just like old times, Jane thinks, and she grins into her notebook.

An hour later, note-taking abandoned, she's giggling like a school girl over one of Darcy's jokes. "You're the ultimate lightweight," Darcy likes to remind her, and while Jane doesn't think she's intoxicated, she's quite close.

Darcy looks over the back of the futon out the window at the night sky, and whistles. "You know, I guess I can understand your attraction here. It looks amazing. Cold. But amazing."

Jane follows her gaze. "Yeah. I think I'll turn some good things up here." She takes another sip. "There's something out there."

Darcy looks strangely at her. "What are you talking about?"

The wine makes Jane's thoughts muddled, but she takes a breath and tries to think. "Bad weather and long daylight hours aside, the night sky is amazing up here, right? Virtually no light pollution, and then there's the Aurora borealis—"

She's rambling and pauses to reorder her thoughts. "Something hides Ceti Alpha from view. Sometimes it's only a minute, but it's like the star just…disappears. It could be an equipment malfunction or—"

"Well, it did snow 24 inches last night."

"No, I'm not talking about environmental conditions." She takes another sip from her glass.

"Sounds like a spatial anomaly to me," Darcy says, shrugging. "Maybe a wormhole that sucks all the light in?"

Jane grins ear to ear. "You've been holding out on me, Darcy," she says, pointing a shaky finger at her friend. Her gaze becomes reflective again, and she quiets. "Honestly, I just don't know. I don't want to jump to conclusions without more time to analyze what I have. And I can't until I get access to better equipment."

She fills in Darcy on her problems with landing time at the Nome Observatory. The intern takes a big sip. "You see what this is, right?"

Maybe it's the wine, her own pesky belief in the power of human goodwill, or just plain naiveté, but Jane can't. She tells Darcy as much.

Her friend snorts. "By your own admission, who has the power, resources, and drive to keep you in the dark?"

Jane racks her brain. And then the answer is suddenly, horribly clear. "Oh God. SHIELD."

Darcy nods. "You must have really pissed them off. Or worse, they're terrified of what you're capable of."

The physicist can't speak. She tips her glass up and drains the rest of her wine. Every emotion she has lived over the past few days comes roaring back full force, and she can scarcely breathe. On the contrary, her intern looks almost happy. Jane asks her why.

"Because," Darcy says, a grin spreading across her face, "where there's a will, there's a way."

{}{}{}{}{}

**Asgard**

The guardian of the ruined Bifrost and watcher of the nine realms, ancient and somber, stands on the broken edge of the rainbow bridge, staring out into the heavens with golden colored eyes. Every so often, his gaze shifts, or his nostrils flare, the only indication that the guardian is alive and not a magnificent statue. Replete in the armor of a warrior, he rests his dark hands on the hilt of his sword balanced between his feet, and stands at attention.

"How fares the realms, Heimdall?"

The guardian doesn't turn, but the corner of his mouth quirks upwards as Thor steps beside him. In contrast to Heimdall's formality, the prince wears a simple cloak and no armor. In the short span of time that has elapsed since his banishment, fine lines have formed around edges of Thor's eyes and mouth, and his presence lacks the boisterous spirit it once did. Be it from too much time spent in sorrow, or from managing the heavy burden of his role, the guardian knows not.

Heimdall returns to the question at hand. "Some are well, my Lord," he replies, "other's still bear the damage done by—," he pauses and leaves out the name, "_indiscretion_."

Thor looks out into the stunning multicolored canvas of space laid out before them. They are both silent for a time.

"Is she well?" Thor finally asks, his voice low.

Heimdall does not need Asgard's heir apparent to elaborate further to know about whom he speaks.

"Yes." His golden eyes flash as he looks through space. "Though at times, she is hidden from me."

Thor turns, concern flashing over his handsome features. "Hidden? How?" he beseeches the guardian.

"I do not know," Heimdall says, and his deep voice sounds almost weary. "But in all my years, there has only been one being capable of shrouding my sight."

They both know who that is.

Something darker than rage flashes in Thor's blue eyes. "Tell no one of this," he orders. Heimdall nods somberly, and watches the prince storm away.

{}{}{}{}{}

**A/N ** It was lovely reading your comments. It's an honor to hold a discourse with such intelligent readers, and I hope to continue to do so.

Both University of Alaska's Nome Observatory and the Ublureak telescope are products of my imagination.

Leave a note. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Nome, Alaska**

Worlds away, Jane Foster has no idea that, however briefly, she was the object of Heimdall's far-reaching sight. Instead, she is cursing at her problematical telescope. Ceti Alpha 7654.4 is completely obscured, and Jane suspects something in the lens aperture has finally broken. Unless she can repair it, her work here is done until she can produce the funds to buy another one.

Despite her layers, the physicist feels the chill seep all the way into her bones. Her hands are clumsy and slow in gloves, but she doesn't dare take them off. She has heard too many horror stories from the locals.

Instead of snow, she stands on a muddy tundra covered hill that overlooks the wilderness, and beyond that, the Bering Sea. It churns in the distance, black and foreboding.

Over the weekend, Nome's weather returned to its yearly average for the season, (still freezing, according to Darcy), but not cold enough to keep fallen snow on the ground. Jane's boots make a squishing noise in the mud as she moves around the telescope, screwdriver in hand.

Despite the thaw, she can feel the temperature drop by the minute until her breath is visible in the cold air. She makes a few last minute adjustments and checks the eyepiece again. Nothing.

Jane resists the urge to stab the screwdriver into it. With a sigh, she dismantles the telescope completely. Head down, shoulder stooped, she trudges back into the cottage.

"Goldilocks didn't appear?" Darcy comments, seeing Jane's expression. The physicist sends her a scathing look, enough that Darcy mouths 'sorry' and backs away.

"It's broken," Jane hisses, dropping the telescope case on the floor. "I feel like I'm the butt of some cosmic joke. How could so much go wrong with one person?"

She throws down her coat, hat and gloves on top of the telescope and moves into the kitchen. Instead of going for coffee, her usual crutch, she settles on some tea. The teapot steams in no time.

"What happened?" Darcy asks, decidedly meeker than a moment ago.

"I can't see anything out of the eyepiece. I'm going to have to send the thing out for repairs and it going to take the last of my funding…"

She shakes her head and drops the tea bag into the hot water. "I'm sorry; you don't deserve me acting like this. I just don't know how much more disappointment I can take." She grabs the mug with her cold hands and holds it against her chest like it's the only warmth she's felt all day.

Darcy crosses her arms. "Then I guess it's a good thing that the Ublureak telescope is yours for the next three weeks."

Jane turns and her mug of tea falls from her hands onto the floor. She doesn't even notice. "What?"

Her intern can't resist a smile. "There are perks of having worked for a governor. I called in some favors."

"Oh my God, Darcy, thank you!" Jane runs to her and gives her a hug. "I can't believe it!"

The intern shrugs. "Now you can search the skies for your star and your little blonde man to your heart's content."

She gets a playful elbow in the ribs before Jane dashes to her laptop. She flips it open and begins to type furiously.

"What now?" Darcy asks.

"I have to prepare, make sure my data's in order, crunch numbers..." She's not aware her words have drifted off she's so consumed by her work.

The old fire that Darcy remembers is back in Jane's eyes. She grins and leaves the physicist to it.

{}{}{}{}{}

Jane wakes up with a gasp. It's pitch dark in her room, lit only by the alarm clock that reads 2:37 am. She shivers and grabs clumsily for a sweatshirt. She pulls it over her head, and is tempted to throw on another for good measure.

Forcing her stiff limbs to move, she climbs out of bed and walks to the door. The cottage is dark and quiet, save for the noisy furnace working overtime. In her periphery, she sees crimson fabric drag along the floor and disappear into the kitchen. Not unlike a cape. She bolts after it.

And collides squarely into Darcy's back.

"Hey!" the intern yells leans, pulling her thick red blanket tighter over her shoulders. "What the hell?"

Jane backs up. "I'm so sorry." She decides to omit the explanation involving her bizarre Thor sightings. Instead, she smiles meekly. "I thought it was an intruder." That's true. Mostly.

Darcy frowns. "Yeah, well good morning to you too. I was checking the thermostat. It's beyond freezing in here." She taps the cover with her fingertip. "Holy sh—" She looks over at Jane. "What's the temperature outside?"

The physicist walks to the window and tries to see through the frosted glass to the temperature gauge outside.

"It's broken," she reports, squinting at the mercury.

"Yeah, why is that?"

"Because it's reading negative sixty four degrees Fahrenheit." Jane turns, hands on her hips. "That doesn't happen this time of year. Not at this latitude."

Darcy pulls on her jacket and ski mask, and then holds her blanket back over her shoulders. "Well, that crappy furnace has been on all night, and it's only fifty one degrees in here. _I believe it_."

She grabs another blanket off the futon and trudges back to her room muttering "Global warming, my ass," before the door closes.

Despite the appealing idea of snuggling back under her warm covers, Jane is awake and decides to her time is better spent working through her data more. After brewing herself a cup of tea, she sits down at the kitchen table and gets to work.

{}{}{}{}{}

**Asgard**

"What have you done?" Thor bellows, approaching Loki's cell like an angry lion, radiant and terrible.

Loki watches Thor with an amused interest before the serene mask settles over his features once more.

"Greetings," he says, his voice all silk. "I must have been devious indeed to earn a visit from the would-be king." A grin splits his face, though it holds no warmth. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of your company since you had me thrown in this place."

Thor has neither the time nor the patience for banter.

"Heimdall says you are blocking his sight of Midgard," he says, gauging Loki's reaction. It's an exaggeration, of course, but Thor is willing to play to Loki's vanity to get answers. His adoptive brother listens, hands behind his back, but gives away nothing. After a moment, he turns and walks to the other side of his cell, looking out into the bleak shadows of the dungeon. Thor's scowl follows him.

"Even removed of my current…_predicament_," Loki muses, turning back to glare at his brother again, "I could not possibly overpower Heimdall's sight of an entire world."

It's a moment of rare humility, and as such, Thor believes that Loki's admission might actually be true.

"So," the shamed prince continues, approaching the side Thor stands near, "what are you _really _accusing me of?" The corner of his mouth raises a fraction.

Thor struggles to keep his breathing steady. "What do you want with Jane Foster?" His tone holds an undercurrent of barely checked rage.

Loki looks affronted. "Heimdall must be truly too aged to perform his duties if—"

"_Tell me!"_ Thor's deep voice echoes throughout the dark chamber of the dudgeon.

Loki leans forward an inch. "What could I possibly want with your worthless human?" he snarls, his gaze piercing.

"Do not fool with me, brother. I do not possess the tolerance for you that I once did." Thor steps closer. "Your petty schemes know no bounds."

Loki settles himself on the floor, legs outstretched, and looks blankly at the thunder god.

"I am incarcerated," he replies, the very picture of calm. "What harm can I possibly do from here?"

It's always a game, Thor realizes. All moves and countermoves, action and reaction. Thor's fists tighten. With effort, he relaxes them again, but not before Loki smirks. The god of mischief closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall.

"If you're so worried about your little human, go see her yourself," he suggests.

Thor shakes his head. "You know I can't," he argues, more to himself than to Loki. "There is work to be done here, work caused by your mindless destruction."

Loki looks like he is about to refute the charges, but thinks better of it. His eyes open again, his icy green stare penetrating.

"While you fritter away multiple human lifespans reestablishing peace in the nine realms," Loki observes, his voice losing a touch of its smooth quality, "Jane Foster_ will be dead_, wondering what ever happened to her dearest—" he spits out the word, "_Thor_."

The thunder god flinches. He hates to admit that Loki is correct. While Thor would spend only moments of his long life, Jane would spend decades and then be lost to him forever. The image makes him feel weak and sick. His head bows, blonde hair trailing in front of his face. Instead of mocking, Loki looks on in silence, allowing his brother his thoughts.

No matter what Thor chooses, he will suffer. All that he can hope for is that, no matter what transpires, Jane will not.

He raises his head again and squares his shoulders. He cannot neglect the duties of the kingdom his father so desperately requires of him, made even more paramount by the Loki's dishonor to the royal family. Whatever Thor shares with Jane, however dear to him, is not worth the lives of countless others. He knows that she would agree.

Somehow, someday, he will honor his word and return to her, and when that day comes, he will never be parted from her side again.

Until then, he must trust Heimdall's sight—even partial sight—that Jane has not been harmed, and that she thrives on Midgard. Thor is no longer foolish enough to accept his Loki's claims of innocence, but not even his gifted brother can surmount the power of the Allfather keeping these prison cells secure. _Can he?_

"Someday, your lies will come back to haunt you, brother," Thor warns softly, "and I will not protect you."

His brother's final words hold none of the anger from earlier, and Loki watches him leave with a calculating gaze. _How utterly predictable_, he thinks. He could follow Thor's internal turmoil as well as if the brute had verbalized it. _Honor and duty before personal need._ It was not always this way with Thor, though none on Asgard seem to remember, Loki recalls bitterly.

Left alone again, the carefully maintained illusion shatters, and the dark prince is once again in his rags, jaded and weary. His left arm still bears the scars of ripping through the cell barrier, remaining a hateful shade of azure instead of his accustomed fair tone. He flexes his hand. It's still quite painful to move, but to see the look of shock on his mother's face…let her tell _that_ to Asgard's king. The guard has doubled outside Loki's cell, but it is a pointless effort. Unbeknownst to them, he is not foolish enough to risk further bodily harm when the end result will still be his imprisonment.

Loki doesn't spare what little energy he has on healing, not yet, at least. There are other more pressing matters worth his attention—like Thor's curious accusations regarding his little Midgardian pet. With a long exhale, Loki closes his eyes again and stills. It takes so much effort that sweat beads on his brow, but he pushes past the barriers of Asgard's dungeon, past Heimdall's guard on the bridge into the vast reaches of space, and then—

_He's on Midgard_, not in a corporeal form but real enough to the naked eye. The skill of projection, born under his mother's tutorage and nurtured in his lost years of torment, is now fully developed as he, Loki of Asgard, stands on a world not his own while his brother remains hostage to the ruin of the Bifrost.

Loki cannot dwell on this victory long, as the concentration required to project so far drains him by the moment.

While he has the ability, Asgard's prince isn't standing in the busy streets of Paris, London, or heaven forbid, New York City (should he ever return _there_, his first order of business will be to wipe that miserable Stark tower from existence). No, Loki is in a place much more bland and dangerous, a place the humans call Alaska. More specifically, inside Jane Foster's residence.

It's a feeble structure, even by Midgard standards, and Loki frowns in distaste as he navigates his way through the clutter in the dark.

Despite having no witnesses, even as a projection, the prince strikes an impressive image of burnished armor, dark leather and power. His boots move soundlessly across the tiled floor until he finds what he is looking for.

Miss Foster is asleep at the kitchen table, her head resting on her folded arms. In sleep, she appears even more fragile than normal. Weak. Unworthy. So…_human._

She is lit only by the light from her laptop screen. Loki cannot command the physical world from his great distance, so the dark prince is relieved to see her work still open and available for his perusal.

One glance at the screen and he's already absorbed all her entered data. _Clever girl_, he thinks, a smile pulling at his mouth. She doesn't know what she has, and judging by her meager living conditions, no one else does either.

Thor's previous choices for companionship were never based on wit, as his taste for talent lay… elsewhere. This strange human can hardly compare to the stunning beauty of the Asgard maidens at Thor's disposal, and yet the glimpse of terror in his brother's eyes that Jane had come to harm—it was as incomprehensible and vile to Loki as it was fascinating. Intelligent as Miss Foster may be, by human standards at least, she is still inferior to their Aesir heritage in every capacity.

Jane moves her head, and for a second, Loki thinks she's woken, but she only settles into a different position. "Thor," she whispers, her voice groggy and nearly indecipherable. Her full lips part, and she emits a faint sigh.

Loki's eyes narrow, as he has no doubt as to where her dreams have taken her. He scowls. Should he have truly been on Midgard, he would have savored this opportunity for torment, but instead, (surprising even himself), he chooses to retreat.

Loki pauses as Jane speaks Thor's name again, but this time, he can detect the painful loneliness in her voice. He slowly turns and regards the human woman once more, more carefully this time. There's a stressed crease between her brows and her forehead. Her black lashes flutter against porcelain skin, and he wonders if his earlier judgment on her dreams was misguided. This bear's semblance not to ecstasy, but a nightmare.

Against all odds, _the god of lies actually pities her._ His scowl melts away. This human cannot possibly comprehend the forces against her affection for Thor, and yet, she continues her pointless obsession. He can (begrudgingly) respect courage in the face of impossible odds.

Buried beneath years of hardened resentment and anger, something else surges in him-the hateful obligation to soothe her, if only because his brother cannot. _Will not,_ Loki corrects, smirking_. If only Miss Foster knew._

Loki's form doesn't change, but his voice does, affecting the deeper timbre of his brother's tone. He leans close to her ear.

"Be at peace, Jane Foster," he says softly and with purpose, as though calming a skittish colt. Jane's features relax, and her breathing steadies.

Charity depleted, Loki feels disgusted and turns away. In the space of a second he's standing outside. Casting Jane Foster from his thoughts, he observes the Alaskan nighttime sky with a piercing gaze. Snowflakes swirl around the prince. He smirks. _It is as he suspected._

He takes a breath, and—

Back in his dungeon cell on Asgard, Loki's eyes snap open. His head is splitting from the expended effort, and he presses his hands over his eyes to momentarily shield himself the blinding white light of the cell. His sadistic laugh is muffled against his palms.

A guard turns to look at the imprisoned prince. He nudges his companion. They grip their spears tighter and lower them into defensive position. It is an unnecessary precaution, as Loki hardly cares that he has an audience. He lowers his hands and throws back his head. His laugh fills every corner of his cell, slightly crazed and unnerving, for he is quite certain that he is the only being in the whole of the nine realms who realizes Midgard is being invaded.

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**A/N ** I hope this chapter offers some sort of (half) payoff, as we have been waiting for Loki and Jane to interact. For that reason, it was one of my favorites to write.

Thank you to all who have left reviews, favs and follows. I write only with your continued support, so hugs to you all. Let me know your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Nome, Alaska**

Jane wakes up with a pounding headache. She places her hand on the back her stiff neck and tries to rotate it. She learned in grad school that binge research nights never resulted in a pleasant morning, especially when concluded in an awkward sleeping position on the table.

She blinks and stumbles to the cabinet to feel for the bottle of aspirin. She takes several with a glass of water and prays the medication takes effect quickly.

She sets the glass in the sink and looks forward. The kitchen window is covered in condensation, but Jane can make out the temperature gauge outside. Vaguely recalling the events of a few hours ago, she glances at the mercury reading. But the gauge reads a perfectly average outdoor temperature of thirty degrees Fahrenheit.

Stupid thing _is_ broken, she decides, and makes a mental note to buy another one when she is in town again.

Two hours and several cups of coffee later, both women settle themselves into the jeep. While was Darcy showering, Jane had packed what little equipment she had into the back of the jeep, which Darcy added to with snow gear and blankets. Just in case, she argued, and Jane yielded.

The _Nome_ Observatory is a bit of a misnomer, as Jane learns the observatory, like her cottage, is well outside town limits. Darcy attempts to read the map while Jane drives, though after several wrong turns, Jane resumes navigational duties as well. This humiliating experience reaffirms that she is an isolated creature of habit (Darcy has a more colorful descriptions, Jane's favorite being 'freaky science hermit'). It's true enough, though. Other than Jane's few trips into town from her cottage and back, she has done zero exploring in the area.

"_Travel beyond this point is not recommended_," Darcy reads as they pass the yellow sign propped up with sandbags on the side of the road. "How reassuring."

The physicist throws the map down. "It will be fine. I bet we're almost there." Despite the aspirin, her headache is starting to come back full force.

She glances at the rear view mirror and blinks. Once, twice. _Thor's standing in the road behind them_, red cape flailing off his broad shoulders into the wind. Jane gasps and slams on the brakes, throwing Darcy and herself forward.

"What the hell was that?" Darcy sputters, looking at the physicist with bewilderment. Jane turns in her seat and looks back. There's nothing but an empty pavement.

"But…" she whispers, shaken and disappointed all at once.

"What are you talking about?" Darcy presses, her brows lifted. She follows Jane's confused gaze and see nothing.

Jane looks forward again, cheeks flushed. "I…don't know, I just thought I saw something." _Someone._ She looks over at her friend, defeated. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, but my pants aren't." Darcy motions at her soaked lap with her now empty coffee cup. "Thanks."

Jane apologizes and the jeep starts off again. Sure enough, a few minutes later the observatory comes into view.

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Thor momentarily forgotten, the _Ublureak_ telescope is everything that Jane hoped it would be. Encased in a massive white retractable dome, the telescope's metallic cylindrical body gleams in the low light. A marvel of engineering on a scope even beyond her, the physicist walks the gangway around it, her face lit with appreciation. _Finally_, she thinks.

Behind _Ublureak_ is an upper level encased in glass where the computers that run the massive telescope are housed. Behind that, a small functional kitchen and meager dorm room for housing overnight visitors.

A lab technician with the name tag "Aaron" meets them and takes them up into the control room. Darcy gives Jane a sideways '_you've got to be kidding me'_ look after one glance at him. Jane stifles a grin. Aaron appears as stereotypical geek as they come—lanky with a shock of red hair combed back in a fashion last seen decades ago, a pallor that speaks of vitamin D deprivation, pants a bit too tight and a shirt with, _Lord help him_, a pocket protector and more pens than could be used in several years.

Lacking any enthusiasm, he presents them their IDs, which they hang around their necks.

"You must have some pull," he says, deadpan. "I've never seen anyone get clearance so fast."

Darcy smirks and Jane offers a modest grin. The technician motions to an empty chair toward the back of the room. "All yours. Where are we looking?"

Bristling at his condescending tone, Jane sits down on the edge of the chair and exhales deeply. "Carina Nebula."

The technician rolls his eyes. "Right ascension and declination?" he asks.

"10 hours, 43.8 minutes, -59° 52´," Jane answers without missing a beat.

At the press of a switch, the massive dome roof pulls back, revealing the telescope to the skies. Jane bites her lip as she watches. It seems almost unfair that she should make it this far only to become a spectator at the last moment. She stands up again.

"Can I?"

Frowning, Aaron backs up his swivel chair with arms raised and lets her take over the panel. Jane's fingers dance over the keyboard, and she can't help the smile on her face as the massive telescope shifts and points at the heavens.

She punches ENTER and waits.

"Images, both over the infrared and visible spectrum, wave frequencies, and electromagnetic pulse scans are coming in as we speak." He recites the list in monotone while flipping on another few monitors. "This will take a while. You sure you want to stick around? There's a fresh pot of coffee in the back." He shoots a questioning glance at Darcy, who is messing with her phone. She looks up and shrugs at being caught.

"_What?_ I can actually get a signal here."

"Yeah, well, shut it off," he barks at her. "We can't have any interference when we're looking this far out." The intern begrudgingly submits, but not before sticking her tongue out at him.

Jane misses the whole interaction. She's unable to take her eyes off of the telescope. This is the first big break she's had since SHIELD stepped in and sabotaged her efforts on the Einstein–Rosen bridge, and nothing will tear her away from the lure of discovery now.

Hours pass. Darcy is sleeping on a cot and Aaron's still in his chair, head tipped back and snoring. Jane's staring at the monitors with compiled images, her head throbbing again despite another dose of aspirin. She wipes her eyes with the hand. It's torture to look at the bright screens, but she's scared to look away. If she does, inevitably, that will be the moment something will happen.

Jane glances at the clock. It's after 2 am. _Maybe a small break_, she decides. She'll make a cup of coffee, and then she'd be ok again.

A few minutes later, Jane's standing in the kitchen, listening to the gurgle and hiss of the coffee maker as it heats the water. She wavers on her feet a bit. It's so tempting just to close her eyes…

_"You need to sleep."_ _…That _voice…

Jane stiffens and glances over her shoulder, her heart racing. "How can you be here?" she whispers.

The god of thunder smiles tenderly and takes a step closer. "I never left." His stunning blue eyes are kind and earnest, but Jane's too exhausted for sentimentality. She holds back a biting retort and looks away.

"This isn't fair to me," she says, her voice even softer than before.

Grief floods Thor's handsome face. "It's not, but you are strong. You are supposed to tread this path. There's much at stake."

The physicist's brow rises. "To what end? Becoming the long suffering hero?" She sounds as bitter and selfish as her words, and for the moment, she doesn't care.

"There is a reason for everything, Jane," Thor reaffirms, "but you are not alone. You will find me." She can almost feel him step behind her—tall, strong and reassuring. Warmth suffuses her worn body.

"Sleep, Jane," Thor whispers against her ear. She closes her eyes and relaxes to the sound of his voice.

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_"Jane! Jane! Wake up! Jane!" _

Groggy, the physicist props herself up on her elbows. "Huh, what?"

Darcy sits back on her heels. "Finally! What were you doing? Did you sleepwalk last night?"

Jane looks around. She's lying on the cold linoleum tile of the observatory's kitchen while both Darcy and Aaron look at her like she's grown two heads.

"No, I don't think so," she sits up all the way, "I was just tired."

Aaron frowns. Jane believes it must be his permanent expression. "In that case," he says, "the cots in the adjoining room are far more comfortable."

"Who would have thought?" Darcy growls at him while offering Jane a hand up.

Jane waves Darcy away and rises on her own. She's relieved her headache is gone.

"What did we get last night?" she asks.

Aaron stands back, arms crossed. "I didn't check yet, but you're welcome to look."

She pours over the graphs, star charts and images of the telescope's stunning images for the next several hours, rejecting Darcy's offer of getting breakfast (Jane at last settles on a granola bar). Trying to dismantle the mysteries of the universe has a way shrinking her appetite for food.

It's afternoon when the physicist finds her intern in the kitchen staring intently at a chess game with Aaron. She bites her tongue at commenting about the lab-help-not-at-his-post cliché and chooses instead to smile at them.

"Hi."

Darcy waves absently.

"Anything interesting?" Aaron asks on autopilot. Jane collapses in the chair between them. She picks up one of the captured pawns on the side of the game board and rolls it in her palm. "No," she says, more to herself than to her companions, "in fact, everything is rather mundane so far."

"You expected differently?"

_Is she that easy to read?_ "Well, yes," Jane admits. "The findings here don't support the data I've already collected. On my own, I found these anomalies, and even though they're probably equipment related, I was hoping—"

The technician looks completely uninterested, so she stops. Darcy sends her a brief half smile before she focuses her queen on the attack.

Jane sighs and gets up. That's the thing about spending so much time alone—she has an acute sense of knowing when she's wanted.

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Days pass with little incident. With Darcy hovering nearby, the physicist continues to analyze every bit of data she can get her hands on, but she has the gnawing sense that she is overlooking something important. Or perhaps that she is just going crazy.

She certainly looks it. Once glance in the dreary bathroom mirror and Jane does a double take. Her hair is dirty in its scraggly ponytail, there's dark purple smudges beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her cheekbones are more pronounced than she remembered. To make matters worse, the on and off again headache she's been fighting with for days is back with a vengeance, its dull throb radiating behind her temples.

It's then, and only then, that she allows Darcy to drag her away from the observatory and into town, where she finds herself seated at a diner not unlike the one she frequented in New Mexico (with the exception of unnerving taxidermy bear and moose heads staring down at them).

"It's never too late for breakfast," Darcy insists, so Jane has a platter of scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and bacon in front of her. She picks at it with her fork. She's so lost in her thoughts that eating seems an unnecessary hindrance.

"You trust me, right?" the intern interrupts.

Jane looks up, startled. "Of course."

"Then would you mind coming clean about what is going on with you?" Darcy takes a sip of her orange juice. "You've always been a bit off—I mean that in the most adorable-nerdy-scientist kind of way—but something is clearly messing with your head."

Jane takes a deep breath. Exhales. _Where should she start?_ That her lingering sense of self-doubt is so overwhelming she's contemplated picking up and leaving? (Maybe finding a nice teaching position at a college somewhere wouldn't be so bad…if any would have her). That she's so besieged by questions, she just needs a few answers, and she tired of fighting for them? Or that her whirlwind affair with a demigod—alien, _whatever_—still hangs over her like a vampiric specter, draining her?

Darcy waits with uncharacteristic patience. Jane bites her lip. She feels like a diver on the high board, looking down. All she has to do is close her eyes and leap.

"_I've seen Thor."_ It's easier to admit than she thought.

Orange juice sputters out of Darcy's mouth. "_What?!_ And you were planning on mentioning this to me when?" Several patrons look over at her, and she waves bashfully before refocusing on Jane.

"Seriously, what the heck, Foster?" she says, her voice a notch lower.

Jane shrugs. "It's different this time. He's more…" she searches for the word.

"God-like?" Darcy inserts sardonically.

"Well, yeah, in an omniscient kind of way."

"Still all muscle-y and yummy?"

Despite herself, Jane laughs. "Of course," she replies, picturing his appealing form in her mind. Her smile flattens. "Sadder too, maybe."

Darcy stabs at the food on her plate. "When did you see him last?"

Jane thinks. "A few nights back at the observatory. He was talking to me while I was making coffee."

"Before we found you asleep on the floor?"

Jane nods.

Her friend makes a face. "Did you guys…?"

The physicist's face reddens at Darcy's implications. "No, no, nothing like that! Just talked. I was just really tired I guess." She pauses, her memories of the event muddled, and it makes her nervous. "It's all kind of a fog, really."

"Weird."

"Yeah, tell me about it." There's something dismissive in Darcy's tone, and truthfully, Jane is more than willing to drop the subject. Her pathetic love life, with all its yearnings, ambiguities and failures, is still not a topic she feels comfortable discussing. She takes the opportunity to take another aspirin. _Please work quickly_, she wills it. Of all the times to feel like dirt…

A voice crackles over the TV in the diner, and the forcibly-neutral face of the news anchor appears with the subtitle Breaking News Report scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

"_We have received reports of a severe winter storm stretching all the way from Nome to the westerly parts of the Yukon Territory. The National Weather Service is advising residents in the path of this storm to find shelter immediately—"_

Darcy takes another bite of her French toast. "Seriously?" she grumbles, despite having her mouth full, "it gets even colder here?" She swallows. "You really couldn't have found a research station in St. Kitts or something?"

Jane ignores her, instead watching the broadcast of the shaky video taken from a fisherman's boat. It shows a whirlwind of snow and water barreling toward the boat that's already bobbing helplessly in the choppy waves. She can hear the crew's screams in the background. The news anchor prattles on about _"— possible evidence of an extremely rare __meteorological phenomenon called an arctic cyclone—"_

"Jane? Jane!" The intern looks at her like she's lost her mind.

Reverie broken, Jane's eyes go wide. "Oh my God." Like a lightning bolt, connections race through her mind, almost too tangled to make sense of. Her headache pounds fiercely in her skull, almost to the point the diner lights are wavering, but she breathes in deeply and tries to focus.

She looks at Darcy. "I need your phone." Darcy slides it across the table, watching Jane all the while with furrowed brows.

The physicist gaze darts up at the TV while she dials, watching but not listening. "Hi, Aaron, it's Jane Foster. I need you to do something for me." She rolls her eyes at his unintelligible whiny protest before continuing. "Get someone—no, I don't care who or where—to look at Ceti Alpha coordinates. Yes, right now. Call me back when you do." Her voice holds that nervous excitement Darcy hasn't heard in ages.

"What's that about?"

Jane's fingertips drum a quiet beat on the table in sync with the pulsing in her head. "A crazy hunch," she answers.

The wind picks up outside, howling past diner. Sea water sprays against its windows like rain.

Darcy's phone rings a few minutes later. Jane listens to the technician's spiel and suppresses the hints of a grin. She hangs up and returns the phone to her intern.

"Ok, seriously," Darcy says, "what is it?"

Headache forgotten, Jane pushes away her plate and stands up. "I think I get what's going on. Maybe. I have to get back." Her words are rushed as she scrambles to gather her things.

The revelation falls on deaf ears. _"Are you crazy?"_ Darcy cries. "Did you hear what the news just said?" She waves her fork at the screen. "Rare _cyclone_. No thanks. I'm staying._"_ She crosses her arms and settles further into the booth, as if to further emphasize her point.

Jane digs in her pocket and throws several bills on the table. "Look," she argues, desperately racking her brain for a reason—any reason—she could use to convince Darcy, "do you really want to stay here?" They both glance at the world-weary locals seated at the bar. Jane continues, "We have nowhere else to go except the cottage, and I think we both can agree that the heat works better at the observatory."

The intern pouts, unconvinced. At then, as if providence chooses to actually favor Jane, the power flickers out in the whole diner as another gust of sea water smacks into the windows.

Darcy picks up her purse. "Ok, I'm going."

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The observatory's technician all but pounces on them when they get back. "Where have you been?" he barks.

"Why? Miss me?" Darcy winks. Aaron turns red from his neck to his ears. "Uh…no…I just thought—"

"Is the roof secured?" Jane interrupts, her authoritative tone redirecting technician's attention. "Yes, of course," he stutters. "I heard there's some pretty crazy weather out there."

"Understatement," Darcy confirms. They can hear the wind beat against the side of the building. The walls are composed of reinforced concrete, but nevertheless, it's an unsettling sound.

Jane pulls her laptop out and turns it on.

"Can you get your friend back from Keck 1? I need those results."

Aaron gives her a look like she asked him to donate a kidney, but he sighs and goes to a computer and starts typing. A video window opens on the screen, revealing the face of an equally sun deprived scientist in horn-rimmed glasses and Flash Gordon t-shirt.

The man frowns. _"Can't leave me alone…can you?"_ His voice is choppy from the weak feed.

"Yeah, whatever." Aaron rolls his eyes. "I need a hard copy of what you saw."

"_Are you sure…"_ they can't make out what he says, _"…the correct coordinates? …nothing's there."_ His image wavers as the connection deteriorates.

"Exactly. Just send what you have."

"_Dude, I really can't. We're under contract…if my boss found out…"_

Jane goes over to the path of the web camera and smiles. "Hi, I'm Dr. Foster. I really appreciate your help. We just need another pair of eyes for a moment." Darcy comes up behind her and waves.

The scientist's mouth drops a bit, and then he nods. _"Uh, yeah, sure."_ He types something. _"Ok, results sent."_

A mail icon pops up on their screen. "Got it," Aaron confirms.

"Can you check the outdoor temperature?" Jane knows she is pushing her luck, but she really needs answers.

The man nods._ "Uh, sure. Give me a minute."_ He reappears after a minute._ "Steady sixty nine point two degrees Fahrenheit."_

"Thank you for your help."

Aaron cuts the feed. "Happy?"

Jane nods, her lips flattened as she inputs the data into graphical form. "How are the temperature gauges here?" she asks without pausing her typing.

Aaron folds his arms and shoots Darcy a questioning look. The intern shrugs.

"State of the art," he answers at length. "This is location actually houses one of the official NOAA weather stations."

"So you have really good records."

"Yes, of course. Why—?"

"Send me all the temperature data you have, graphed, for the last twelve months." When he hesitates, Jane looks up. "Now!"

The technician scrambles for an empty workstation and types madly on the keyboard for a minute. He looks over his shoulder. "Ok, done."

Jane rubs her aching temple, struggling to focus. She pulls up her months' worth of data points, beautifully graphed, and then overlaps it with the record of the observatory's tracked temperature readings.

Resting her palms on the table, she stares at the data, her mind trying to make sense of it all. "That's it," she says quietly.

"All this time, I thought it was equipment error. But it's not."

Darcy peers over one shoulder; Aaron gets up and looks over the other. The physicist points at the graph. "When Ceti Alpha 7654.4 "_vanishes_,"" she uses air quotes, "the temperature drops, often followed by bizarre weather patterns. Specific to Nome, as least." Jane sits back in her chair, baffled and triumphant all at once.

Aaron shakes his head. "To start with, you're implying a causal relationship with an event that's random chance."

Ready for the verbal blow, Jane parries. "No. The temperature shift follows the disappearance consistently. Look. The correlation is 97.86%. That's unheard of." She pulls up the data from Keck 1. "Even your friend on a _different_ telescope can't see Ceti Alpha right now."

"The weather is great in Hawaii."

"But rotten here. We can't use _Ublureak_ right now because of the weather, but if we could, I bet we wouldn't see anything either."

The technician shakes his head, still unwilling to accept the results. "It's just _not possible_," he argues. For a moment, Aaron seems to be channeling Erik as the voice of critical discernment. "No ordinary star from that far away will have any impact on Earth's climate."

"Two years ago most of us didn't think there was alien life out there either," Darcy points out. Jane shoots her a quick grateful smile.

"That's right," she adds. "Everything I've ever studied, mainstream science has called outlandish or impossible." She takes in a breath and taps the screen with her fingertip. "Numbers don't lie. This is _something_, and we're going to look into it further."

"Still doesn't explain why your star can't be seen— sporadically, at that—by some of the most advanced telescopes in the world."

Aaron continues arguing, Jane isn't listening to his rant any more. Something akin to thunder echoes in the distance. Her heart beats faster.

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**A/N **Hope everyone had an enjoyable holiday!

The road sign mentioned in this chapter is real, at least according to Google. Crazy. I couldn't imagine seeing that as I'm driving. Keck 1 is indeed a real telescope in Mauna Kea, Hawaii. On that note, I should mention that while I'm not pretending to write 100% factual science, I try to inject as much as I can from reality. Of course, any errors are mine.

In response to some reviews, I hope the answers to this story's many ambiguities continue to become clearer. I _hate _quick reveals, so answers will come gradually and probably not before a lot more questions surface (think X-Files format here). There is a vision, I promise.

I continue to write with your support. Please let me know your thoughts, questions, and comments.


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